# Life in the City



## Arylett Charnoa (Jul 29, 2008)

So... this is the first story I've ever posted on the internet. I wrote it for my World History class and it's basically supposed to be the diary of a mother and factory worker during the Industrial Revolution set in England. My teacher loved it (got an A+.), but I think it's utter crap and overdramatic. (the plot isn't really realistic, I doubt that these events would've ever happened.) 

Not to mention it's probably inaccurate. (and wordy, I was trying to make the lead character talk as they did during that time period, but it's probably all wrong.) I wanted to post it though, to get some critique, because I do want to write more, even if I sort of suck.

Here we go then. ;;Sort of nervous;;



~12 June 1826
This day has been most distressful. Most distressful indeed.

I simply refuse to believe that my beloved husband is contemplating selling our farm! Does he not remember the laughter of our children, the echoes of happy memories past with which our cottage radiates with? Or is it all to be left and forgotten at the sight of several shillings?

Mr. Salworth, a rather wealthy gentleman, wishes quite eagerly to purchase our farm land. Our crops. Our livestock. He appeared to be quite convincing, having entranced several neighboring farmers to sell to him. And I was quite right, Mr. Salworth proved to be a cunning, tenacious man.

I thought that perhaps by some faint glimmer of hope that not even my Gideon would be foolish enough to fall under his spell. But I had known how fragile, how very malleable his mind was. Mr. Salworth had barely said more than three words and already he had ensnared Gideon with ideas of uprooting our family, our children, with little thought and moving to the city.

The idea that more money lies ahead enticed him and Mr. Salworth's asking  price even more so. But I believe that there is little in the city for us, despite Gideon's protests. 

"My dear Victoria, why on Earth do you not want to take Mr. Salworth's offer? You heard him! In the city we'll make much more money than we'll ever make on this simple farm. The wages in one of those machine factories are much better. And all those new inventions they come out with every day! Think of what we could accomplish!" Said my husband, voice brimming with awe and astonishment.

I responded with similar astonishment, but mine at how he could simply throw away a near decade's worth of memories.

"Memories mean nothing now! You can't dwell on the past, we must think of our future, of the children's! In the city, we will make more money, more food! They will be much more well-fed. Think of all the problems with the crops we've had before. We'll never go hungry again with all of my new pay!"

For a moment, I thought. It was true, both the crops and the livestock were often insubstantial in quality and quantity, barely enough to feed both us and the children a meager meal. They were very thin, we all were. And the work in the fields was harsh on them, their bodies covered with scraps and bruises. But I doubted that moving to the city would make all of our problems magically disappear. More so, it seemed as if it would increase our problems, being in an unfamiliar place with little experience on how things work there. It just seemed like a dream to him. Gideon was trapped in the illusion Mr. Salworth had created for him, that working in a factory would solve all of our problems. Unfortunately, it all seems too good to be true.

And I told him what I had thought and told him to give me time to contemplate this. But it seems that Gideon is trying to make things happen too rapidly. Things are moving at breakneck speeds. It was only a couple of years ago that there were no factories, none of those newfangled contraptions. People are trying to progress too quickly, to do so much all at once. But what of the consequences...? Such change so rapidly cannot be a good thing and I am afraid. 

So deeply afraid that things will never be the same.



~14 June 1826
How could he! I cannot believe it! No, I do not wish to believe this! Of all the idiotic things I have seen him do, this one is the most foolish!

He sold it all, our home, our farm, without so much as a single thought! Apparently he was convinced that he had convinced me to move to the city. That is complete bullocks! 

I know that he is my husband and that I must serve and care for him, but this is utter madness! The impatient fool could wait no longer, he knew that I had still not approved, and went behind my back. He was so eager, so excited! Nothing could stand in his way. The city and the factory with its glittering promise of a better life, how could I not understand? No, I am just a silly confused woman to him. And that is my flaw, I am a woman and therefore I cannot understand what only a man can, that more money is the end of all problems. My opinion meant nothing because I comprehend so little, but it is not my fault, he thought, I'm sure. I'm only a woman. 

But it does not matter that I am only his wife, he could have at least told me before making such an important decision! I do know that it is silly for me to be angry, it is not my place to make decisions. I live only to serve him and to raise my children. And I am only indignant on behalf of the children, as a mother should be. The children's transition from farm to city might not be as easy as he thinks. It is an immensely different environs, I know that much.

And so much change, all so quickly, I have expressed my reluctance and fear of its consequences. I believe that society should slow in its haste to produce a better life. 

But I'm afraid more of the change in Gideon than in the environs. As I conveyed to him the severity of his poorly thought out decision, he became quite odd. His behavior almost monstrous, his rage and impatience that I could not understand how much prosperity was ahead of us frightening. He screamed, berated me for my stupidity of clinging to the old ways. And he scarcely listened, it was set in his mind passionately that his decision was a good one, the best he had ever made in the entire span of his life.

"A new life is ahead of us, can you not see it Victoria! And only a fool would try to resist it! Memories mean nothing in these new times. These inventions will take us past our limits, to the very stars themselves!"

I only hope that he is right, for our sake and for the children.



~16 June 1826
Yesterday we purchased our new home, which was not only much smaller than our cottage, but also much more expensive.

And was it worth it?

I would say no. 

Our first day in the city was a dreadful affair. The air was stagnant with the smog churned by coal-powered machines. It was a city of darkness and gloom. Never had a seen a more cold and lifeless place. The sight is truly dismal here in Manchester.

The streets are uncomfortable and cramped, littered with many bags of putrid rotting garbage and other wastes. If anything, the city appears to have been built haphazardly. With little thought or regard for comfort. Our new home falling under the same category. It is quite minuscule in stature and yet another family already lives within it. Quite literally, there were no houses left unoccupied and thus we were forced to live in a house already occupied by a family who appears to be more poverty-stricken than us. 

Everything in this city is filthy, even the people. The other family, a family of three, are particularly grimy. All three work at a coal mine and their faces are forever tarnished with the black smears of coal dust. Their clothes nothing more than coarse rags hanging off their bony frames. Their eyes faded and lifeless with an eternal fatigue. They are a diminished people, these city people, sickly, drained by mere living itself. 

I wonder if that is our future. I wonder if we will eventually in time become those people. I wonder if soon we will be exhausted with life, drowned within the gloomy darkness of this miserable smog. Barely surviving each day, perhaps not surviving at all. It appears to be a harsh life, one that I am not sure the children would even survive. 

This is what I worry of, the future. What is it about this city that dwindles the quick? The air is filled with the hopelessness of these people. It is infectious with their anguish, with their weariness, with their malaise. Will it wear us down as well, eventually to the state of living death its inhabitants seemed to have achieved?

One thing is evident. Its promise of happiness and of a better life were just as I had thought, a dream which glitters only in the mind of fools. Gideon does not see the reality, this city does not offer a better life. This is clear from its people, who meander about like ghastly corpses. They too, perhaps, had hopes like him. Their faith in the new ways and creations of man. But they were soon awakened from their dream, forced to face their reality.

He will realize it soon.



~18 June 1826
His rude awakening has come sooner than I have originally thought. And what has happened is quite unexpected. 

Yesterday, Gideon and I went in search for work. Several miles away from our house was the perfect candidate, a cotton mill.

And we met with and spoke to the owner of this mill, telling him of Gideon's desire for a job. But his reaction was unexpected.

"Ah, I'm sorry good sir. But I'm not hiring men, they're far too expensive, you see. However, if your lovely wife was interested in working here, why, I would be more than happy to hire her!" 

Gideon was baffled, thinking he hadn't heard correctly. The concept of a woman working was simply too much for him to bear. He could not believe it, I know it. The look on his face of utter shock, of utter surprise. Surely it cannot be true!

And yet, it was. The owner refused to give Gideon a job and I was forced to take it. If he couldn't work, then who would? How would we eat? How could we live? 

It was not with pride or happiness that I took the job. I did not even desire it. But it was a necessity. 

Today, Gideon searched all over the city in vain. It seemed lodged within his mind that he, being the man of the house, had to work. And rightly so. This new age is one of madness! Almost anything can happen. A woman, working! A few years ago, we would have thought it inconceivable! How would I take care of the children? What of them?

None of the factories in the area were willing to take a male worker. They cited the reason for this due to wanting to save money. A working man costs more money than a woman when a woman can do just as much work at half the cost. It was economic to them, Gideon was not worth the extra shillings.

The change in my husband now is appalling. He seems to be defeated, a little more like the people of this city. A few hours ago, when he gave up his vain search, he left for the local tavern to sulk. 

And though now he sulks and hides behind his drinks, this belies an aggression. The fury and impatience in him is not gone, to the contrary. It is stirring once more and I am afraid that one day soon it will consume him, his frustration at his dream of a better life in the city not being realized. 

It is very upsetting to see him so depressed. I know that he blames me. Even though I have said countless times that I would give him my job if I could. In an instant. He still does not listen, just as he did when I warned him that moving to the city would not be a terrific magical affair. I did not want to be right and he does not realize that this is not about being right or wrong. It's about what's best for the family. And this new life, this life of industry, is definitely not the better life.

Tomorrow is my first day as a factory worker. What lies before us is uncertain, I myself fear the future. My precious daughters, what will happen to them? They do not seem to be adjusting well either. The two are always miserable, yearning the old days at the farm. They can barely play outside as they once did, for the streets are so besmirched and damp with waste and the air so unbreathable. They cough when they are forced to breath it.

The infectious despair and weariness the city emanates seems to be affecting the entire family. My children are contracting it and now my husband and I. 

Will this nightmare cease or has it only begun?



~25 June 1826
What a long time it's been since I've last written. I look upon my last entry and sigh. Much has happened since. Those days before, though not too long ago, feel as though they were another life entirely. Far and distant, like Gideon's former dream.

I haven't had time to write, my new job has been all-consuming. Now I can see why the people of the city are constantly in a state of fatigue. Most of them work in similar positions.

The first day was the most difficult, since I did not know what to expect. 

I came to the mill, expecting the work to be easy. All I had to do, I thought, was to operate some machine. And that, certainly, did not sound as arduous as it really was.

What a fool I was, to underestimate it.

That beast, that cold unfeeling monster that is so unscrupulously called a machine! How I hate it. The grinding, roaring noise it makes, the musty stench of sweat, of iron, of dust, day after day! And the workers, former shells of human beings, in a state of exhaustion that rivals death. Each day, we choke on the constant musty stench, struggling to expel it from our ailing lungs. And each day we work in the dank stale darkness, the rooms dimly lit.

It always begins with my ascent to the mill, which is in itself a demanding task, it being three miles far.

The days as a doffer are long and laborious. I barely get enough sleep due to the demands of this job. Nearly the entire day is spent working, with precious few hours during the night to rest. Awakening myself from bed is one of the most difficult parts. Each morning I must force my aching protesting body from the bed's warm embrace. 

And for all the hours I work I only get one paltry hour of lunch. I work in a trance, a trance of hunger, of longing, of sickness. For in the dawn, as I run on my way to work, I eat my small breakfast, usually an orange, as quickly as I can get it down. Then afterwards, it is always the same feeling.

But the constant sound of the agonizing screams is the worse. Sharp shrill cries of pain from those too fatigued too work being spurred and goaded by the overseer. You absolutely must keep up with the machine's pace or he will come. He, the terrible overseer, shrieking in his fierce fury. "Work, work, work!" And his whip will lash in its maniacal frenzy, welting your body. I myself have been beaten a few times. Sometimes for being late, others for simply falling asleep. I had cried, I had weeped helplessly for mercy during my first thronging. But now I know it was futile, that wicked man cares about nothing but the machine's pace.

Many of the workers are children. It is most awful to see them be so callously chastised. Their blood split and littered all over the floors. 

Yet the factory is indifferent. All the workers, including myself, fearful of our own flogging, frantically assume our task and silently ignore the cries. And the echoes of their shrieks and of the metallic beasts and of our growling stomachs and of our chocking breath drone and fade into an endless song into the night.

When I am finally finished, a short-lived relief bursts through me. It is time for some well-deserved rest.

Or so I thought the first day.

It has become routine, going to work and then coming home to tend to the children. Several times I have asked Gideon for aid, since he does not work, but all in vain. All he does these days is mope about the tavern, often coming home inebriated and incoherent. He still cannot accept that his wife is earning the money. But the money I earn is not worth it, we have less to eat now than we did before. A negligible sum.

The poor children. When I come home, they are often starving. They cry out for food, though I scarcely have any to give to them and am usually too exhausted to cook. And they express their fear, telling me that their father was acting strangely, speaking in a strange manner. Then I must convince them that things are all right, though they are really not. They must be oblivious, for oblivion is bliss. 

It is with great trepidation that I must say this. I fear the time in which I must force the children to work in the factory is nearing. It would be dangerous to leave them alone with Gideon any longer, who appears to be succumbing to drunkenness and madness. And the shillings I make are meager sustenance, we run out of food more and more each day. Much more so than we ran out of crops or animals on the farm. It is only out of necessity that they must work soon. Very much so. I would like to keep them away from the gloom of the factory. But it is inevitable, for our survival, for their own sake. 

There is no choice, only life or death.



~9 July 1826
I only must sigh, I did not want to be right.

The events of this week have been tremendous, disgusting, more terrible than anything I've ever experienced. Things certainly will never be the same now, I have accepted that. I weep the tears of Gideon's broken dreams.

This city, it is cursed. I sensed it from the moment I stepped foot its befouled streets. Its perpetual gloom was not merely my imagination, but truly something malevolent.

Almost immediately after I realized that if we were to survive the children were to work, I did a wicked deed. I sold my children's very lives to that malicious overseer. The very moment I did it I regretted it deeply. He owns them now, they must work for him for six years. And for what? Sixteen shillings. The money I took was tainted. They are now his slaves, to work for him or face the consequences. 

Only out of necessity, extreme desperation would I do such a wicked deed. That day, we were in severe need of shillings. We had run out of food and the children were ill with hunger. As was I and as was Gideon. He himself did not want to resort to it, it only seemed to increase his suffering. And once more, he would not listen. So much was grief that he refused to even speak of such a repulsive thing as his woman and children working, but not him.

So I did what I had to, even if he objected. After all, it was only fitting. He did the same to me. And we needed it so direly, if we were to even survive. It was for their sake.

Their first day at the factory was their worst. The day before I was exhausted beyond all belief, my body ached with the fresh sores of yet another thronging. It needed more rest, more energy than ever before. And when time came to go to work, I, and the children along with me, kept on sleeping.

One hour later, I awakened in shock and surprise. We were late and with fear I realized what it had meant. That vile man and his manic whip would graze my poor daughter's flesh. Frantically I went to wake them and we bolted to work as quickly as our feet could take us without breakfast. The girls complained, they were hungry. But they did not understand the severity of the situation, no matter how many countless times I had told them, they could not see that there was no mercy in the mill.

And then they understood.

When we arrived, the overseer was rabid with fury. I asked him to spare the children, welt only me. But the lunatic was hungry, hungry for punishment. I could tell from my days there that he adored his job, beating and whipping and lashing, what great fun it was to him to put "delinquents", as he called us, in line!

He lashed them first and I watched in great pain as they squealed. His malicious eyes glinted with fanatic joy. Several floggings he gave them, until they had lost even the energy to shout in pain. And their eyes faded, defeated, lifeless. They understood now, they knew exactly what I had meant.

After that, they never complained again. That wicked man had beaten the spirit, the childish joy and innocence right out of them. They knew at that moment that things would never be the same and realized it with a numb grief. It was to be like this for a very long time, perhaps even the rest of their lives. Then they were lifeless, drained, trapped within the gloom that so many had succumb to within this city.

To see that terrible man welt the spirit right out of my children was the most terrible, shattering sight I've ever had the deepest misfortune to gaze upon. It did not matter that he then thronged me, I had already realized that it was futile. But to do such an evil thing to a child, two none the less! Never will I forget that moment, nor will I forget the horrible events that followed.

On our way back home, it began to rain. As we walked through the dark streets filled with damp rotting waste, the putrid scent even more accentuated by the humidity, I felt an ominous feeling. I had the feeling that what would be waiting for us back at the house would not be a wonderful sight. 

How is it that I am always right?

The other family was gone, off at their respective jobs in the late night. We were completely alone. We found Gideon lying on the floor, mumbling in a crazed drunken stupor. He seemed so inebriated that he did not even seem to realize we were there. The children spoke, they shrieked in fear. What had happened to their daddy? 

So abruptly he rose and I felt an impetuous energy emanating from him. He moaned and screamed in madness, obviously extremely drunk and not having the faintest clue what he was actually doing. And he struck, just like that, at one of our precious daughters. She shrieked in fear, very disturbed at the transformation in her father. 

I could not just let him hurt our children, my children! I told them to run, flee, that daddy was crazy! They were apprehensive at leaving me alone to face his wrath and hesitated. In their hesitation he took the chance to seize me and began to clout me and flail about. My body, covered in fresh sore bruises from that morning's beating, protested once more. Molten hot pangs had gripped me all over. The girls cried, their voices mad with fright.

But then it ended as suddenly as it had began and he fell to the ground. His system unable to take anymore of the alcohol. My husband began to flail about in a seizure of madness. Then halted and gasped. His eyes glazed over, the fire behind them extinguished. They stared blankly ahead, vacant and unknowing.

And he moved no more.



~16 July 1826
Poor Gideon. His dreams shattered, his life ended. The children have been traumatized by his death, they having witnessed it with their own eyes. He was a wonderful man in the old days. The memories of his kindness, his gentleness, will always be with us.

But he is gone, taken by this cruel cursed city. The pain and shock of his death have subsided, but I miss him each day. I miss his soft touch, the look on his face when he thought that the city would be a magical cure-all. His warm embrace, his firm, yet gentle voice.

Before we moved, he wasn't always like that. He used to be so caring, but this place's miserable air transformed him. Into a sulking drunken former shell of himself. He never quite lived after finding out that he could not work any longer. After that, he died a little inside. He was already lifeless before he died. Drained of all his dreams by this place's cruelty.

If they had paid men the same wages as women and children, perhaps this wouldn't have happened. If they weren't full of such avarice, those factory owners, maybe they wouldn't have cared only about saving shillings and valued nothing of human lives. Perhaps none of this would've happened. Gideon would still be alive today. 

And yet, even if he were still alive and working, he would not be happy. It would've been worse if the poor man had to experience what I have. To work in those factories is to work in the throes of pain and misery itself. He would have the same exhaustion as I have, the same fatigue, the same anguish of being on the brink of death, yet not quite dying. He did not deserve to die the way he did. Gideon deserved so much more.

Now we, the living, the remaining, must deal with his absence. My daughters are severely distressed, ill with grief and worn down by their jobs. One is becoming quite literally ill, each day her condition worsens. She coughs vehemently and vomits quite often. And they continue to chastise her, because she is too weak to work as quickly as they would like. 

Wicked, wicked, wicked overseers! One day they will be punished, I swear it. These evil factories spawn only pain and despair, death and illness.

I hear the other workers, plotting at times. Mostly it is the other women. They too have had enough of this existence. I have heard them speak of supposed revolts in the past, of how workers have risen against their wicked overseers. According to them, a few years back there was a massive revolt. It gave them hope, to tell such tales. And soon, hope turned into schemes.

They wish to emulate these riots of the past. It is a conspiracy. They chatter of plans to finally give that terrible overseer what he deserves. To demand less hours and more rest! More time for meals, perhaps even higher wages! 

But I know better. What seems too good to be true probably is. Gideon had learned that the hard way.



~23 July 1826
It is over. Nothing I've ever thought conceivable, or at least never dreamed even in my most ghastly nightmares, has happened all at once.

This entire time, I never wanted to be right. I have said it countless times. 

I am alone now. This city has wracked a plague upon my entire family and I am all that is left standing.

The revolt did indeed proceed as planned. At least until it was abruptly snuffed out by the overseer, who called reinforcements. 

It was pandemonium. I do not even wish to remember the most horrendous day of my entire life. It was a war! Never have I seen so much chaos. How many more lives were taken before theirs? The fierceness with which the overseers and the workers fought. Their intensity, they were fighting to kill.

I ran through the chaos, trying to find my children. Screaming, shrieking, fighting my way frantically through the crowd. Unknowing that it was too late. They had to be alive, I had to protect them, to save them!

And the relief spread over me, temporarily, as I found one, ill and battered but still unharmed. Now to find the other. I was more hopeful, if one was still alive, then surely the other would be as well! She was waiting for me to find her, she was frightened, she needed me.

Then I found her.

She stared blankly at me with the same vacancy her father had. No longer could she think, could she speak, would I see her smile. The little life and energy she had within her was snuffed out and she was a victim, an innocent victim who had done nothing at all. 

I was shocked beyond all belief, it all seemed surreal. I could not believe it! I could not even breathe. All I felt was numbness, a disbelieving emptiness deep within my soul. But before I could even contemplate it, another blow was struck.

This one to my very body itself.

And I laid on the floor, helpless and sore, exhaustion and emptiness gripping me. The overseers struck their retribution over the rowdy workers and had started thronging any they could find. They lashed and welted mindlessly, mad in their pursuit of those who had started the riot. 

In their way she had stood, simply stood. Her sickly form was knocked out of the way and fell to the ground absurdly, like a tattered doll. There she shivered and coughed, feebly moaning in the agony of her illness. It was then that her body could take no more of what was tearing it apart and grew still. Another feeble life extinguished so rapidly, so thoughtlessly purged from the planet.

At first, I simply refused to accept that they were gone. The shock was so great that it had numbed me entirely and I went on with life, pretending as though they never existed.

But the emptiness is too terrible for me to deal with, I know that now. Now I must grieve, for pretending that they never existed would be an insult to their memory. Oh, it just cannot be true! No, I wish this were a dream!

Without them, my life is meaningless. They were all I had, all the love I ever had to give was for them.

Oh, why did Gideon have to move to this wretched city! It was here were everything fell apart, so quickly and suddenly as though it were nothing at all. The misery, the pain, the fatigue we have endured in that horrid mill! The shrieks of those welted, the metallic beasts, the scent of blood, they continue to echo within my mind. How many more lives has that factory worn down, to nothingness? 

I understand now why the people of this city's eyes are always faded, their clothes always filthy and ragged, and their faces eternally diminished and lifeless. Now I am nothing more than another one of these people, just one of the many who suffers, one of the thousands of victims. 

If it were not for the fact that those overseers were greedy slave drivers who cared about nothing more than working us all to the bone, perhaps the workers would not have revolted and my daughter would have been spared. And more so, perhaps they wouldn't have grown so fatigued and ill and weak and miserable. Perhaps this suffering would have never happened.

Now they are at least free, all three of them. To watch them suffer has been the worse experience of my life. 

What lies ahead for me now? Will I live, will I survive without them? I know not what the future has in store for me. All I know is that I wish for this, all of this to end, for the factory overseers to cease their cruelty, for this city to be a little more cleaner, for the faces to be a little more happier, for there to be more space, more light, more comfort. 

But that is just a dream, distant and far as the stars that Gideon's inventions promised to take us to.


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## Dragon_night (Jul 30, 2008)

Well, the only thing I see that's wrong with it is it's a bit dull. It's sounds more like a historic record or something, so that's probably why I didn't find it that much interesting. (That, I had I to learn this is social, which wasn't fun.)

On the plus side, you got plenty of historic things right (from what I remember). Although, the way they talk is a good question... Would she really talk that way with the kind of life she's lead... I dunno, maybe it's because she sounds too civilized, but who am I to comment >.>

Although, besides it being uninteresting, I can tell you have plenty of skill to write something much better. Be it in a diary format or not, I'd really like to read something else by you. 

(Sorry if I wasn't much help >.>)

Keep it up!


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## Arylett Charnoa (Jul 30, 2008)

Mmm, I suspect it's boring because I had to stick in as many historical references as I could in there to please my History teacher. XD

Again, I wasn't really sure how people talked in that time period. Maybe she writes too civilized, who knows...?

I really do have potential to write something better? Oh wow. I may just write up a Pokemon fic or something and post it here. :D


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## Dragon_night (Jul 30, 2008)

> I really do have potential to write something better? Oh wow. I may just write up a Pokemon fic or something and post it here. :D


Do it! (Please) :D


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